The Old Organist

The Old Organist
3196

The morning services were o’er
And yet the people stayed
While some remarked how wondrous well
The old professor played

His muste filled the village church
Somehow as ne’er before:
And c’en the choir were loath to go,
Put lingered at the door

The player seemed unconscious, too,
Of all the listening throng
And hands In untaon with soul
Poured forth a rapturous song

His white head bent above the keys,
His form swayed to and fro
The music swelled out loud and clear
And then fell sweet and low

His eyes were raised, his thin lips moved,
And yet there came no sound;
The angels just above the blue
Must certainly have heard

They knew within the old man’s heart
Were praises deep and loud:
That twas a hynn of thankfulness
Went up above the crowd

On, on, he played, unheeding still,
Until there came at inst
A look of peace upon his face,
Which had been overcast

The past was wholly blotted out
The present was his own: future held
The fu bright heaven in store,
“Twas there his soul had flown

The music ceased no quietly
The people did not know
The good old organist had died
While they paused there below

His hands lny lifeices on the keyse,
Closed were his weary eyes,
“And on his upturned wondering face
A look of glad surprise